He arched a look of mild amusement at me once he realized I wasn’t making fun of him, but attempting to joke with him, if anything at my own expense. He relaxed a tiny bit more as he continued.

“Anyhow, for my parents, the final fortnight of the year is less about celebrating a holiday than it is an annual opportunity to explore the far corners of the world.”

I felt a tug of envy. Traveling to the far corners of America was something I had on my bucket list, but the idea of being free and able to see the whole world?

Yeah. It was beyond.

“That sounds cool,” I said, keeping my envy tempered. “Your passport must be amazing.”

“I don’t go with them.” His voice was devoid of emotion as he stared at the shadows past the halo of the lamplight over my shoulder. “Not anymore. Not since I turned seven. My parents sat me down then to explain that Father Christmas was a society-wide agreed-upon lie told to children and it was best if I learned that directly from them, in theory to foster mutual respect.”

I blinked at him as I attempted to process what that must have been like.

And my envy evaporated.

“Holy shit, Arthur,” I said softly. Inarticulate, yes, but it was the only thing I could think to say.

Suddenly parts of him were starting to make a lot more sense. It hurt my heart to think about Arthur going through something so callous from the two people most expected to protect him.

He continued on in the same flat tone that carried the faint undercurrent of grievance I was sure he’d considered hidden. “From that point on they saw no reason to make more of the occasion, apart from the necessary efforts to keep up appearances amongst their friends. Which typically means extravagant parties and the proper amount of décor. What it does not mean, however, is feeling obligated to bring me along on their various travels.”

“Who did you stay with, then?”

But the second I asked the question, I knew. And he confirmed.

“Auntie Esha took me in every Christmas. At first, we spent the holidays at her flat in London where she would go absolutely mental decorating every square inch. Not unlike the lobby of your grandmother’s inn.” For a flash, I wondered if there were overly large nutcrackers there, too. “As I got older, however, we started venturing out to places that were especially Christmas-oriented. Dublin. Quebec. Vienna is a particular favorite. And though I’m obviously not a little boy anymore, we still spend it together. She usually plans out everything for the both of us. Except this year.” He met my eyes with a piercing look. “When I did.”

Well. Shit.

Twelve

DECEMBER 21

Today was going to be a good day. I was determined.